


Switch

by YumYumPM



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Humor, M/M, Tarot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:25:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1425034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumYumPM/pseuds/YumYumPM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Transformation and Tarot Cards lead to amusing incidents along with insight in dealing with things  like 'that time of the month' and 'early morning wood' with Napoleon caught in the middle</p>
            </blockquote>





	Switch

Samantha Hanes stood on a busy sidewalk in New York City, both excitement and trepidation running through her veins. She stopped in front of a plate glass window to admire her reflection. At twenty-eight, Samantha’s features were nice, but not exactly anything to write home about. She’d taken a risk having her long dark hair chopped into a sleek and sassy new style.  


Her grey eyes, eyes that changed color according to her mood, stared at her reflection in the window, checking her appearance and tilted her head critically wondering if she looked professional enough. At least she hoped her outfit did; a navy skirt along with matching blazer over a white blouse.  


Now her eyes shone brightly. Here she was in the big city on her way to an interview for what could be her dream job. Small town girl makes good. Glancing at her watch, she saw that she had twenty minutes before she needed to catch a cab to take her to the museum. She took a deep breath and turned away to walk to the corner.  


A chance movement from across the road caught her eye. Two very good looking men were just coming up some stairs to get to street level. They stopped at the top to chat and she could have sworn that she recognized the dark-haired one. That was impossible; he couldn’t possibly be who she thought he was. She’d had such a crush on him and hadn’t seen or heard from him since high school. He was even more handsome then she remembered and he was not alone.  


“Napoleon?!”  


Surely there was no way that he could have heard her calling out to him. But it appeared he had for a broad grin spread across his face and he poked his friend in the side before he nodded her way. It didn’t make any sense; she didn’t know anyone in New York City. She held her breath as the dark haired man narrowly managed to avoid being hit when he dashed across the street and called out. “Sam! Samantha!”  


She blinked her eyes and looked again. It was him. He’d put on a few pounds, but he still looked mouthwatering. Her eyes raked over him as he bounced to a stop in front of her, a broad grin spread across his handsome face.

“Napoleon?” she gushed breathlessly, as she found herself lifted off her feet in an immense hug. “Arghh…Napoleon Solo!”  


He loosened his hold and held her at arm’s length. “You’ve grown! Where’s your pony tail? What brings you to the big city, Sam my girl?”  


Samantha felt herself blush, that was the nick-name Nappy had always used when she’d started following him around at the age of eight and he was ten. Here, Sam my Girl. Stay, Sam my Girl. Sit, Sam my Girl. It had always irked her, after all she wasn't a dog. And Napoleon had grown to be an extremely fine looking man. It had always been Sam's secret dream that one day he'd look at her and would realize that she was his secret love.  


She was distracted by the sound of a throat clearing. Her eyes traveled to a smaller blond man who had suddenly appeared at Napoleon’s side. His hand was extended in greeting and a curious smile graced his lips. “By the way I’m Illya Nickovitch Kuryakin.”  


Napoleon seemed to remember his manners. “Sam, this is my…very good friend. Illya Kuryakin. Illya, this is Samantha Hanes, the bane of my existence from the time I was ten until sophomore year in high school.”  


“Woof,” Sam growled, her grey eyes sparkled in a cross between irritated and amused.  


Illya’s eyebrows rose under his fringe of blond hair. Interest showing in his eyes, there had to be a story behind this. From what he could tell this little slip of a girl wasn’t what he considered Napoleon’s type.  


Samantha managed to pull her eyes away from the cute guy with the blond hair and blue eyes and turn her attention back to Napoleon. “You remember my grandmother’s jewelry?” She pulled a large medallion out from beneath her blouse. “Thanks to this I have an interview with the Metropolitan Museum which will hopefully lead to a job.” She glanced down at her watch. “Darn. If I don’t get a rush on it I’m going to be late.”  


Illya pulled out his glasses and held out his hand. “May I?” he asked politely.  


Seeing no reason not to, Sam pulled the necklace over her head and handed the pendant over. In the slit second when the metal touched his hand and she still held the chain it was as if an electric current passed through them. The next thing Napoleon knew his two friends were collapsed on the sidewalk unconscious.  
***  


Samantha opened her eyes at the sound of Napoleon calling her name. Apparently she was flat on her back in a room that looked like a hospital room. She turned her head and noticed Napoleon standing next to another bed pleading for her to wake up. But that didn’t make sense. She shifted her body with some difficulty to an upright position. “Napoleon?”  


Napoleon turned toward her, relief evident in his expression. “Illya! You’re awake.”  


‘Illya?’ Samantha looked beyond Napoleon to the body lying on the other bed, then down at her own body and promptly fainted once again.  


Illya heard his name called. He felt lightheaded and he realized it wasn’t only his head that felt light. He held up his hand and a sense of shock took hold of him as he looked at the slender, feminine member. “Napoleon?”  


“Sam!” Napoleon moved away from the male body passed out on the bed across the way to turn back to girlish figure who’d called his name.  


Illya couldn’t blame him for being confused. He was pretty confused himself. Not only was his body not his, the voice wasn’t his either. There had to be some way to get through to Napoleon.  


“It’s me. Illya. Number two, section two. Your partner. Remember when you lost that perfume atomizer in Rome? Or the time…”  


Napoleon sank down in the chair placed between the two beds and looked from one body to the other.  


Samantha let out a groan and sat up. She almost passed out again when she noticed the clothing she had on. She looked down at her hands then over to Napoleon and beyond to where her body sat on the side of the other bed. “How did this happen?” The sound emanating from her mouth sounded strange to her ears.  


Then her voice spoke. “I haven’t the faintest clue.”  


There was a moment of silence, as the two looked at each other and wondered.  


“My necklace!”  


“That has to be it.”  


They both turned to Napoleon.  


“Where is it?” The two said as one.

Three grumpy people entered a small Italian restaurant. They were greeted at the door by the proprietor, and Napoleon requested an out of the way table.  


Napoleon had gone to the street corner where everything had occurred and searched frantically around the area and unfortunately had been unable to find any trace of the necklace. This was New York after all. Anyone could have picked up the piece of jewelry. It wasn’t exactly small.  


After their release for the hospital, nothing had been said. The three of them had left the emergency room rather hurriedly, not wanting to answer any awkward questions.  


It had looked a little strange to Napoleon when Sam had gallantly opened the car door and ushered Illya into the back seat before taking the front for herself. Even more so when Illya in Samantha’s body had led the way to the table, while Samantha in Illya’s body had hung to the back. This was going to get more confusing by the moment. Illya’s body movement had gotten a little less stiff, almost graceful, while Sam’s was developing an awkwardness. Napoleon gallantly pulled out a chair for Samantha and got a patented dour Illya look as the female body plopped down in another chair where his back was to the wall. Illya’s face held a little pout as she delicately sat down in the chair Napoleon held. Napoleon shook his head and sat down in the only chair left.  


“How is it women manage to walk on these stilts.” The plop of shoes hitting the floor could be heard while Samantha's mouth muttered grouchily in a Russian accent. “Where did you get that necklace?” Her grey eyes darkened as he glared at his original body.  


“I’ll have you know that necklace has been in my family for years. And never once has there been any instance of this kind in my family.” The indignant tone, with a hint of whininess sounded disturbing to Napoleon’s ears.  


“That you know of.”  


Fortunately the waiter arrived just then to take their orders and peace reigned if only for a little while.  


Samantha ordered a vodka, Illya a glass of tea, unsweetened, giving the waiter a sweet smile and flutter of eyelashes.  


“Ouch,” Illya yelped in pain while he reached down to rub his shin someone had just kicked. He squirmed in his chair pulling down the skirt that covered his legs.  


“Cut it out, you two.” Napoleon hissed. “We’re going to have to find someplace to keep you both while we figure out what happened.”  


“Why?” demanded Samantha, large hands snagging a roll from the basket in front of them.  


“Do you want to explain this to Mr. Waverly?” Napoleon directed his question at Illya.  


Samantha's elbow nudged him. “I’m over here.”  


The waiter had returned with the drinks and waited patiently while the three made their order. Napoleon wanted to cover his eyes as he looked down at his glass of wine wishing he’d ordered something stronger. It was becoming increasing obvious that he would need it before the meal was over.  


“Who’s Mr. Waverly?” Samantha asked after their order had been taken and they were once again alone.  


“He’s our boss.” The lightly Russian accent sounded strange coming out of Samantha’s mouth. “And Napoleon is right, he would not understand. I’m not sure I understand. Yet.”  


“Like I said we need someplace for both of you to stay until this whatever it is wears off,” Napoleon pointed out.  


“What about my place?” Illya suggested.  


Napoleon shook his head. “Nope. Your place is too small for the three of us. My place would be much better.”  


Their food arrived before Samantha could voice her disagreement. Decisions were being made without any input from her and she was not happy. She tried to spear the lettuce on her plate of salad, the larger hand making it difficult. Looking across the table she saw herself scarfing down a large forkful of pasta in a most un-lady like manner.  


“Do you mind!” she sniped.  


“What?” Illya looked up, his mouth half full.  


“That’s my body you are stuffing full of fattening food,” Samantha complained.  


“So.” Illya shrugged, and then a strange look crossed over his way too feminine face. He wiped his lips smearing Sam's lipstick and quickly got up from the table. “Excuse me.”  


“What do you see in him?”  


Napoleon shrugged. “He’s okay once you get to know him.” It seemed strange to say that about his partner to the body that belong to him. This was definitely going to take some getting used to.  


Meanwhile Illya started to enter the men’s room. A waitress tapped his shoulder and pointed him toward the ladies. He gave her an embarrassed smile and hurried inside, locking the door behind him. He certainly didn’t want anyone seeing what he was about to do. Once in the stall, he hiked up Sam's skirt and pulled down her panties, horrified to find them stained with blood. He was knowledgeable enough to know what that meant. He wasn’t sure what to do and reached for his communicator, planning to get in touch with Napoleon, then smacking himself in the head remembering that it was in his jacket, the jacket that Samantha was currently wearing. There was a dispenser by the door with items that a woman having this problem could use. He didn’t have any money on him, not that that proved to be a problem. Figuring out how to use the pad was.  


Walking back to the table was extremely uncomfortable. Illya sat down and glared. “I need to change clothing. Now!”  


A pair of blue eyes and another of brown stared at each other then at him, puzzled. He was not about to explain why. Needless to say in the end he got his way.

First they stopped at Illya's apartment and got his already packed suitcase. It had taken a great deal of talking on Napoleon's part to convince his partner that changing into a pair of boxer shorts, t-shirt, and slacks would not fit the body he was now occupying. Sam had chimed in saying that there was no way her body was going out in public wearing anything that hung on her and made her look like some kind of transvestite. Napoleon was frankly surprised that she knew what a transvestite was. He still didn't know why it was so important for Illya to change.  


Somewhere along the way the two got into a fight over who would carry Sam's purse. Samantha had automatically picked it up, but Illya had objected to it.  


“Why? It’s my purse.”  


“It’s my body.” Illya had responded indignantly.  


Samantha thrust her purse at him. “Then you carry it.”  


“There is no way that I’m going to carry a…purse!”  


“Don’t look at me. I’m not carrying it.” Napoleon shook his head and backed away.  


Samantha’s reaction was just to stare at her body now occupied by Illya. The fact that she was now taller than him might have made the difference.  


“Okay,” Illya reluctantly agreed. “But if I do I want my gun and communicator.”  


“Gun!” squealed Samantha, startled as a dainty hand pulled aside the jacket on Illya’s body and pulled out the gun with the K initial on the butt. Another raid on the Russian’s jacket produced his communicator from the inside pocket. Both items disappeared inside the purse causing an unsightly bulge as it was snapped shut.

Three people pushed they way through the revolving door to the hotel and strolled with determination to the front desk. If the man at the counter, when the slender blond-haired man in the middle asked ever so politely for the key to room 607, stared strangely it was understandable.  


If he seemed a little nervous as he passed over the key and watched the three walk away, that too was understandable. If he wasn’t mistaken the curvy brunette on the left, currently pulling the back of her jacket down, was the occupant of that room. He signaled the guard over to his counter and had a word with him.  


The guard moved purposely to stop them before they got on the elevator.  


“Everything all right, little lady?” he asked the little brunette.  


Napoleon bit his lip to keep from laughing. He and Samantha exchanged glances before turning to look at Illya.  


“Everything’s fine,” growled the feminine voice as Illya pushed passed the guard and stormed into the open elevator.  


Napoleon thought he would lose it, when Illya’s blue eye winked at the man flirtatiously before following. He burst out laughing when the purse that Illya, in Samantha’s body, was carrying smacked into his, Illya’s body. He sobered up quickly when he realized it wasn’t really funny. It was at that point he began watching the interaction between his two friends with interest.  


Once in Samantha’s room, Samantha pulled out her suitcase and set it on the bed. Much to her annoyance Illya immediately went to the closet and started rummaging through her clothing. Not finding anything that looked appropriate, he moved to the dresser, tossing clothing left and right.  


“Hey!” Samantha protested as she picked up the mess on the floor and put it into the open case.  


Napoleon felt like an outsider as Illya sidled up to Samantha and whispered into the blonds’ ear.  


“Oh!” The look of surprise on the male’s face was comical. She reached into her suitcase and pulled out a bundle handing it over to the red-faced guy that occupied her body.  


As Samantha’s body stormed into the bathroom, Napoleon stood there with his mouth opened, wondering what was going on. Hearing a giggle come from what looked like his partner had him shaking his head. He began to worry as the giggling continued longer then it should have. Suddenly it stopped.  


“Oh, my god. The interview!” Illya’s body sprawled across the bed rolling to the side nearest the phone as she reached for it. She sat up, checked a notepad lying nearby before dialing the number.  


“May I speak to Mr. Wilcox, please?”  


“Samantha Hanes,” she paused as if realizing the sound of her now male voice was a dead giveaway that she was not herself. “… er a friend of Samantha Hanes.”  


“I realize that, but I … she was in an accident and …”  


“You can call the hospital!” Evidently whoever was on the other line wasn’t buying her excuse.  


“But … but ...”  


Napoleon watched as Illya’s blue eyes stared in disbelief at the phone he held. His lips began to tremble and the next thing Napoleon knew he had an armful of wailing female, even if the body was that of his partner. His arms went hesitantly around her, patting the back of Illya’s jacket as arms wound around his neck and a yellow head buried itself against his shoulder.  


“Napoleon!”  


There in the doorway of the bathroom, dark hair damp, dressed in faded blue jeans with her hands on her hips and a button down shirt, was Illya. Grey eyes flashed with anger.  


Napoleon backed away and shrugged. Sam kept on crying. “They won … won’t … consider me.”  


Illya let out a puff of exasperation.  


“Don’t worry. U.N.C.L.E. will take care of it,” Napoleon offered, gently patting Sam on the back.  


“Better not let Mr. Waverly hear you say that,” Illya muttered. “Let’s just pack up the essentials. No dresses, no skirts, and absolutely no make-up.”

“Wow, you really live here?” Sam asked, turning a complete circle and taking in Napoleon’s apartment.  


“I have dibs on the master bedroom,” Illya chimed.  


Napoleon and Sam turned to stare at him.  


“Well you don’t expect this body to sleep on the sofa do you?”  


Napoleon turned to Sam. “I guess that leaves the guest bedroom for you and the couch for me.”  


“Do you always give in to him?” Sam grouched in Illya’s voice.  


“It seems the easiest thing to do,” Napoleon replied.  


“Well,” Sam said resignedly. “Perhaps you could show me were the guestroom is?”  


Fortunately, Napoleon’s penthouse contained two bedrooms and two baths. One of the rooms had been turned into a library, full of shelves loaded with books, a TV set, and a tufted leather sofa. While it was rarely used as such, it could be pulled away from the wall and the back lowered, turning it into a full size bed.  


It had been an extremely long day, and everyone should have been tired. Napoleon headed for the living room, removing his jacket and loosening his tie as he fixed himself a drink from the collection in the Global shaped bar. He could hear Illya, who was closeted in the master bath, a steady stream of Russian curses in a feminine voice floating outward through the bathroom door. Meanwhile Sam seemed to be singing in the other shower, her voice a soft baritone.  


He turned on the stereo and flopped on the sofa, letting his head fall against the back. The music soothed him and he almost dropped off to sleep. Pushing off the sofa, he retrieved a pillow and blanket from storage, then headed for the master bedroom for a shower. All he wanted now was a hot shower and a good night’s sleep, though the good night’s sleep would be doubtful since his bed was already occupied.  


Slipping into his bedroom, he noticed his partner already fast asleep. The slight body and glimpses of dark hair peeking out from under the covers threw him, in spite of the fact that he knew it was Illya underneath. He shook his head as he grabbed his pajamas and headed for the bath. By the time he’d finished, Illya had shifted position on the bed. A bare arm flung over his head and one bare leg stuck out from under the cover. A twist of the body and a slender bare back was presented, causing Napoleon to exit the room faster than normal.

“Napoleon!”  


Napoleon’s eyes popped opened at the sound of his name being hissed into his ear. He turned his head, finding a pair of angry blue eyes, underneath a thatch of blond hair, staring down at him.  


“Illya?” Napoleon grunted, halfway awake.  


“No,” Illya slid over the back of the sofa landing heavily on Napoleon and slapping him on the chest.  


“Ummm…Argh. What…” A light flashed on in his head. “Sam?” Napoleon blinked the sleep from his eyes as he struggled to sit up, not an easy thing to do with one hundred and sixty pounds of male on top of you.  


Illya’s eyes may have been the ones that glared at him as she pointed down to the bulge that had risen beneath her pajamas. “What am I supposed to do about this?” she hissed.  


Napoleon’s eyes widened at the sight before rising to meet indignant blue eyes. Then his brain kicked in. “Samantha Hanes,” he said firmly. “You can not be that naive.”  


“What’s a person got to do to get some quiet around here?”  


Napoleon dropped his head back. Samantha’s body stood in the doorway, dark hair messed up, eyes half opened, and more importantly, pajama bottoms slipping down on slender hips. With a wicked smile Napoleon looked at the person sitting on him and suggested. “It’s his body, why don’t you have him take care of it.”  


“Napoleon!” Samantha shrieked, the mere thought causing her problem to shrivel. She looked down delightedly, then bringing both hands to Napoleon’s face, kissing him soundly. “Thank you.”  


Napoleon pushed her off himself, sending her crashing to the floor and rose from the sofa, passing a bemused Illya to head for one of the bathrooms.

In the middle of inserting the end of his tie through the knot, Napoleon followed his nose as it twitched and the smell of fresh coffee drifted to him from the kitchen.  


“When did you learn to cook?” he asked as he watched Illya’s hands expertly crack open an egg and drop it into a hot frying pan.  
Blue eyes fluttered flirtatiously at him.  


“She hasn’t,” A feminine voice said flatly. Napoleon turned finding Illya sitting at a small table dark hair hanging down while staring at a fork full of runny egg and holding a piece of burnt toast in his other hand.  


Napoleon looked at the food and decided to skip breakfast. Something was going to have to be done. Early on in their career he may have wondered what Illya would have looked like as a woman ... now that it was a reality it just wasn’t working for him. It all seemed to stem from Samantha’s grandmother’s necklace.  


“I thought I would check out the information that the museum has today. I’m fairly certain they won’t recognize me,” Samantha contributed brightly. “What are your plans?”  


“I’m going into the office and see what I can come up with,” Napoleon said, sipping his coffee.  


“Wait a moment and I’ll get dressed.” Illya pushed away from the table.  


“Ah…Illya, I don’t think that would be a good idea. How would we explain it?”  


Illya sank despondently down into his seat. “What should I do then?”  


“You could clean the apartment.” Napoleon ducked just in time to miss getting hit by a piece of burnt toast.

Napoleon was worn out when he returned to his apartment. What with the well meaning questions about Illya’s whereabouts and trying to come up with information without sounding as if he were crazy, Napoleon was disgruntled. What little information he had gotten wasn’t very helpful.  


He shut the door, turned to head for his bedroom and froze. Standing in the hall way was a petite brunette with both hands holding a large gun. Before he realized what he was doing, Napoleon stormed over and snatched the gun away.  


“What do you think you’re doing?” Illya snapped.  


“Sorry. Force of habit,” Napoleon’s mouth twitched as he handed back the gun. It had been an automatic reflex to disarm an armed assailant. Illya’s statue could normally be misleading, but now it was more so.  


Illya grinned as he tried to put the gun away in the shoulder holster that looked out of place over the plain white t-shirt that covered the female physique. Then there were the rolled up jeans that slipped down on the slender hips.  


“Why did we pack all Sam’s clothing if you’re not going to wear them?” Napoleon asked.  


“I refuse to wear women’s clothing.” Illya shuddered. “So what did you find out?”  


“Not much,” Napoleon admitted. “Waverly’s making noises about sending us out on an assignment.”  


“That should prove interesting.”  


Before Napoleon could agree, Samantha burst angrily through the door and slung herself down on the sofa.  


“You would not believe it!!! It’s easier getting into Fort Knox then it is to get into the museum offices. I couldn’t even get anyone to talk to me.”  


“How is your interrogation technique?” Illya asked.  


Samantha did a double take. “What the hell are you wearing?”  


“Ladies, ladies,” Napoleon broke in before Illya could respond, earning him a glare from both.  


“If you are quite finished, Napoleon.” Illya moved to the desk and picked up a book. “I went to the library and found this.” He opened the book to a marked page.

Samantha snatched the book away. “That’s it.” She squealed as she closed the book, marking the page with her finger and turned to the cover. “Hey!! Are you insinuating that my grandmother was a witch?”  


“Just how do you think this happened?” snapped Illya.  


Napoleon gently took the book away, doing his best to hide his amusement of the sound of indignation coming from the mouth of his partner. “If the shoe fits. How did you manage to find this?”  


“It wasn’t that difficult. I have an eye for detail.” Illya calmed down and managed to curl up on the sofa. “What was the common denominator for what happened?”  


“The necklace?”  


“Correct.”  


“My grandmother is not a witch.” Samantha picked up the phone and began dialing. “And I’ll prove it.”  


Realizing what Samantha intended, Napoleon snatched the phone away before she could say anything, after all it wouldn’t do for her to talk to her mother with Illya’s voice.  


“Mrs. Hanes? It’s Napoleon, Napoleon Solo.”  


“Yes, it has been a long time.”  


Illya and Samantha moved in close trying to listen in to what was being said on the other end of the phone line only to have Napoleon push them both away.  


“I live in New York now.”  


“Really? As a matter of fact I saw Sam just the other day. She had on this unique necklace.”  


“That’s right, the one that used to belong to her grandmother.”  


“Ah huh. You don’t by any chance know where she got it?”  


“Ummm. You’re sure about that?”  


“Thank you, Mrs. Hanes. It was nice speaking to you as well.” He stood there silently for a few minutes after hanging up.  


Samantha pulled on his jacket, doing her best to get his attention. “What did she say?”  


"Your grandmother, it appears, bought the little trinket from a flea market."  


Groans went up from both Illya and Samantha.  


"What do we do now? Wait for whatever happened to wear off?" asked Samantha.  


Illya shook his head. "If I have to go another day in this body I will kill somebody." He looked pointedly at Napoleon.  


"This is not my fault," Napoleon protested.  


Illya and Sam rolled their eyes in unison.  


"Did you bring food?" the dark-haired Illya asked.  


"Was I supposed to?" Napoleon answered. "There should be plenty of food in the kitchen ..." He paused in the doorway and stared at the abundance of dirty pots and pans scattered around his normally clean kitchen. He turned a disgruntle look at the culprits. Grey eyes were turned upward, studying the ceiling, her lipstick-less lips whistling a couple of incongruous notes. Blue eyes were studying fingernails on stubby fingers.  


"Don't you ever take care of your nails," Samantha complained, then she straightened her left hand as if contemplating it for the first time.  


Napoleon held his breath as Sam studied the silver band on the ring finger of that hand.  


"Why do you wear a wedding band? Good Lord, do you have a wife?" she asked shocked.  


Napoleon backed off, curious as to how Illya was going to answer that question.  


Illya scowled. "You're just now noticing that? It's none of your business." He reached out and with slender fingers pulled the ring off 'his' finger before thrusting it into the pocket of his loose fitting pants and storming away into the bedroom.  


Napoleon sank onto the sofa.  


The hurt look on the face that was Illya's was heartbreaking, mainly because it was a look Napoleon never saw on his face. But then that familiar face rarely showed emotion. The lower lip was quivering and the next thing he knew he had an armful of hard body, sobbing relentlessly and loudly. His arms automatically tightened around his partner's body.  


"Napoleon!"  


Napoleon jumped slightly, his eyes finding the tiny brunette standing in the doorway glaring at him. He shrugged and said, "What can I say?"  


The grey eyes sparkled their understanding and the lips twitched. Dangling from one hand was a green silk bag drawn up with a silk cord. Bare feet padded across the carpeted floor to sit next to them, and he pushed the body sitting in Napoleon's lap off of it. "If we are ordering something, I want Chinese."  


Napoleon straightened up, curious about the green bag. He had never seen it before.  


Samantha had landed like a lump on the floor. She scowled, her blue eyes indignant. The suggestion of food had her reconsidering her actions. Her hand landed on Napoleon's thigh as she tried to pull herself up and heard a snarl that oddly enough sounded like her own. "Chinese if fine by me."  


With a sigh Napoleon pushed Sam's hand away and got up to call in their order. He kept his eye on Illya, who had opened the bag and pulled out a deck of cards. These were not your usual deck of cards. They were bigger than a normal pack and more colorful.

.

It seemed strange to see Illya, dark hair hanging in his face, shuffle the cards and lay them out in a pattern. Even more so to see Sam, in a male body kneeling next to the coffee table.  


"Oh, you read Tarot cards?" Samantha breathed.  


Illya smirked, his grey eyes catching Napoleon's. Napoleon slapped his forehead as he hung-up the phone. Illya knew quite a bit about gypsies. It only made sense he would have picked up Tarot reading as well.  


"So can you read palms, too?" Napoleon asked as he went to sit on the other side of Illya.  


"No, but I do have a crystal ball." Illya grinned, strange even in a feminine face.  


"In that case, why is it we always seem to get captured so much?" Napoleon accused.  


Illya sat back and sighed. "It doesn't work that way. At least not for me. Gypsies would be rich if it did."  


"Some are," Napoleon reminded him.  


Samantha sat back on her heels, her eyes wide in astonishment. "If that's the case, why read them at all?"  


The disgruntled look on Samantha's face was pure Illya as he pulled out a black cloth and laid it on the table. The expression on her face changed to one of concentration as he shuffled the cards expertly, before laying them out in an unique pattern. Setting aside the card small, slender fingers turned each card over one-by-one.  


Sam sat on the floor next to the coffee table. It seemed unsettling to see Illya's body sitting Indian style on the floor. Samantha's now larger hand reached over to pick one up. "How pretty." Only to be withdrawn an instant later when sharp slap forced it away and a whimper escaped around the digit's that the sting forced into her mouth.  


Illya wasn't paying any attention, his concentration solely on the cards. One finger paused on the Knight of cups, moved onto the seven of swords, the five of wands, the ace of swords, and finally the five of cups.  


"What does it mean?" Napoleon asked.  


"The first card represents the present. The Knight of Cups represents a young man, someone romantic and idealistic."

(the Knight of Cups, in his beautiful robes, sets forth with idealistic expectations. With suitable theatrical expression he holds his cup high, amid streamers of celebration upon his rearing horse.)  


Napoleon glanced over to Sam, who now in possession of Illya's body fit that card to a tee.  


"The second card represents desires. In this case the Seven of Swords represents theft." 

(the Seven of Swords, the man leaving this scene appears to be up to no good. He glances backwards as he makes his exit, carrying five swords awkwardly, having dropped two in his hast, which will no doubt be discovered.)  


Napoleon frowned letting that sink in. To him it could only mean the necklace that was stolen and two bodies switched left behind.  


"The third card represents helpful matters. The Five of Wands basically means conflict or petty squabbling." 

(Five men threatening one another with five wands, as if in combat, yet it is unclear as to who is fighting who. The sky appears unsettled in the background and two mice scurry away as if anticipating trouble. Five is number of instability, change, and uncertainty.)  


"What's with the two mice?" Samantha asked, looking at the card.  


"Two mice? Where?" Napoleon asked.  


"There." Sam pointed to two small creatures on a bit of wood near the bottom of the card that would have gone unnoticed by anyone else.  


"I assume that is us," Illya said grimly.  


A logical assumption, Napoleon thought.  


"The fourth card represents challenges." Illya's finger tapped the Ace of Swords, the card for which Sam had earned a slap. "It represents victory." 

(Against the backdrop of a stormy sky, an ornate golden sword, encrusted with jewels hangs in the heavens. Surrounded by a blue ribbon, the streamers symbolize triumph and celebration.)  


Napoleon let out a sigh of relief. If he believed in tarot cards, this would be what he'd wish for.  


"The fifth card represents outcome." Illya paused. "The Five of Cups is associated with disappointment, feeling of betrayal." 

(It is easy to feel the sense of anguish and dejection being experienced by the knight in this picture. With his head bowed and three spilled cups before him, he does not see the two upright cups still standing behind him. The moody colors of the sky reflect the atmosphere. Five stands for instability and change.)  


Before Napoleon could digest that one, the doorbell rang.  


"Does that mean I'm stuck in this body," Samantha cried out.  


Napoleon shuddered at the thought as he answered the door and paid for the food. Samantha might possibly adjust, she'd always been something of a tomboy, but Illya? He just couldn't see it. Truth be told he liked his partner the way he was.  


"Would you prefer I do another spread?" Illya asked coldly.  


"I would prefer," Napoleon mimicked Illya's accent perfectly. "that we eat first."  


Illya carefully swept up his cards before tackling the bags of food. He and Napoleon were quite adept with using chopsticks, Sam not so much. She eventually tossed them aside to use her fingers.  


Napoleon paused, his chopstick inches from his lips. "Sam, who knew that you had that necklace with you?"  


Sam sucked the juice off of Illya's fingers. The blue eyes grew thoughtful. "Well, Mr. Wilcox knew."  


"The director of the museum?" Illya asked. "How would he know?"  


Samantha looked embarrassed. "I might have been wearing it in the photo I sent with my resume. He thought it was unique and sorta requested that I wear it when I came for the interview."  


Napoleon reached for his pen communicator, planning to call in a request for information on Mr. Wilcox, only to find his hand caught in Illya's grip.  


"Just how do you plan to explain your need for the information?" The dark head was tilted to one side, grey eyes concerned. The lips pressed flat, the expression pure Illya.  


With a sigh, Napoleon nodded his acceptance of Illya's reasoning and reached for his jacket. It looked like a trip back to headquarters was in order. "Try not to kill each other while I'm gone," he called from the door.  


"Can you do another reading?" He heard Samantha ask. "I want to know if I will get the job." He looked back to see Illya slip the cards back into their bag and forcefully draw the cord closed.

No one questioned Napoleon as he slipped back into U.N.C.L.E. headquarters without a problem. It was shift change after all. He stopped in his office before going to the file section to root through the cabinets.  


"Hi, Napoleon. Need some help?"  


Napoleon barely managed to not jump. "Mandy. I thought you'd gone home."  


"Carol called in sick, so I offered to stay. After all, outside of doing my laundry there's nothing exciting to do."  


Napoleon smiled. He liked Mandy, he really did. She was friendly and guileless. While he felt that he could trust her, he didn't think Illya would be happy about it. Still, he was going to need some sort of help. He occasionally wondered if intelligence clerks purposely filed things where you couldn't find them just to justify their jobs. Sometimes you just have to go with your gut. "Mandy, I looking for information on the curator of the Metropolitan Museum."  


Mandy looked around, seemingly searching her memory before heading to a section not too far away. She dug in a couple of drawers before coming up with a thin file folder. "So what's he done? Is he involved with Thrush?"  


Napoleon skimmed through the folder. "Don't know yet."  


"Hmmm." Mindy looked over his shoulder. "Looks clean. Maybe too clean?" Losing interest already, she asked. "When's Illya coming back?"  


Napoleon mused over the question. It was a good one, one for which he didn't have an answer. He closed the folder and handed it back giving Mandy a peck on her temple. "Thanks, Mandy."  


Mandy smiled happily as she held the folder to her chest. "Let me know if I can help with anything," she called as Napoleon left the room.

Napoleon opened the door of his apartment to -- quiet. No television, no music, no squabbling. Nothing. For a moment his heart almost stopped. He worried that something bad had happened. Then he noticed Illya's shoes hanging over the back of the sofa. Moving closer he looked down to see Sam upside down, legs over the back, body on the seat, and head just short of being on the floor.  


"You okay?" he asked.  


The blue eyes opened and looked up at him, then the body flipped over narrowly missing the coffee table.  


"Where's Illya?" Napoleon asked.  


"In the bathroom. I thought I spent a lot of time in the bathroom, but I've got nothing on him," Sam answered, finger combing the blond hair into place.  


Just then Illya came out of the bedroom, wearing Napoleon's red silk robe that came down to her ankles, rubbing his dark hair with a towel. "So what did you learn?"  


"Not much. The guy's pretty much a clean slate," Napoleon admitted. "There was mention, a slight mention, of an interest in the occult."  


Napoleon's eyes automatically went to the blue ones that used to belong to his friend. A throat clearing turned them in another direction and though the color was different the expression was readable. His partner was raring for action. The question was where to start.  


"I vote for searching the museum," Illya suggested thoughtfully.  


Sam threw up her hands and grouched, "Didn't you hear me. The place is better guarded than Fort Knox!"  


Illya tapped his bare foot against the floor impatiently. "And your point? It's what we do."  


"Nappy, talk to him," Sam pleaded.  


Napoleon shook his head. "He's right."  


"It won't take me but a moment to dress," Illya announced, totally ignoring Sam.  


Samantha flopped down on the couch, arms crossed and pouting. One brow rose. "Just what is it you do do?"  


Napoleon couldn't help smiling. "You're cute when you pout."

Three blackened faces, one atop the other, dark-haired then light then dark again peeked around one of the columns in the museum. Napoleon, Sam and Illya in that order from top to bottom. All three were dressed in black and three sets of flash lights, flicked on.  


The employees had long since gone home and the night watchman had just started on his rounds. Illya had tried to talk Sam into not joining them and lost. The three slunk from one dark spot to another, black shadows slipping up the stairs heading for the top floor where they knew the curator's office was located.  


At the top of the stairs, they stopped to coordinate themselves and decide which way to go. Napoleon pointed to the right and Illya nodded in acknowledgement. Sammy wasn't paying any attention and Illya had to drag her away from going the wrong way.  


They arrive at the door. Napoleon checked the door for alarms and nodded when none were found.  


Illya automatically went for the wire he kept in his mouth, only it wasn't his mouth. He pulled Sam over and motioned for her to open her mouth, which she reluctantly did. Reaching in he pulled the wire out scrunching his nose and proceeded to coil it around the knob. He looked down at his wrist, then growled and grabbed Sam's wrist, where his watch was and pushed the button that caused the wire to flash. With a satisfied smile he opened the door.  


"You really are a cat burglar," Samantha accused.  


Illya scowled.  


"Will you two quit bickering and start looking," Napoleon ordered.  


The three scattered around the room, Sam searching the desk, Illya the file cabinet, and Napoleon searching for a safe. It took no time for Napoleon to find it and he pulled out his equipment from the special belt he wore. He slapped it onto the safe and turned the dial. Soon the safe was open and he was rifling through it. He wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for, but ... "Nothing."  


He looked at the blond head that was rummaging through the desk, then at the dark head searching the file cabinet. "Illya?"  


Grey eyes turned his way and the dark head shook from side to side.  


The sound of heavy footsteps caused two dark heads to freeze and look at the door. Napoleon moved swiftly to hid behind curtains, while Illya dove under the desk bringing Sam with him. Beams of light flashed around the room and Illya curled around Sam doing his best to cover the blond hair.  


The door opened. Static sounded just outside the door.  


"Okay. Harry, Mr. Wilcox says to ignore this, that it's gotta be some sort of equipment failure. Ain't anything here anyone would break in for."  
"No skin off my nose."  


The moment the door shut, Sam tried to push Illya out from on top of her. But any spy will tell you that you don't pop out of hiding the moment the door closes. It could be a trap.  


Sam didn't see it that way and bit Illya.  


"What is it with women?" Illya muttered, rubbing his wounded tit as he rolled out from under the desk.  


"What happened?" Napoleon whispered, leaving his hiding place.  


"She bit me!" Illya hissed pointing as his body crawling out from beneath the desk.  


Napoleon looked from one to the other and shook his head. "Come on, let's get out of here. This has been a bust."  


They quietly made it back to the closet where they had stored the rest of their gear and out the building. They made it out to the car, Napoleon slipped into the driver's seat, Sam in the middle, and Illya by the passenger door. That as it turned out was not the best idea. Illya's body was right up against him, and every time Sam moved even if just an inch, an elbow smashed into either Napoleon's or Illya's rib.  


"Pull over," Illya demanded and Napoleon did without questioning it. He got out, pointed at Sam and barked. "You. Backseat. Now."  


Sam meekly slipped out of the front seat and into the back without a word.  


"I want my body back," Illya muttered as he slipped back into the car.  


It was a little before mid-night when the three returned to Napoleon's apartment. Sam went immediately to the bathroom and slammed the door.  


"Look what she did to me." Illya pulled the lose fitting black turtleneck up to his neck.  


Napoleon hastily averted his eyes, but not before he caught sight of the bit mark on one breast and the red bruise on the other. "Shouldn't you be wearing a bra?"  


"What for? There is really not much to see." Illya lowered the black fabric. "You've got Wilcox's address ... correct? Why do we not drop in on him at his home?"  


"Won't he expect that?" Napoleon suggested as he mixed them each a drink.  


"Perhaps." Illya slumped on the sofa, taking his glass and draining it in one gulp. Then he held it out for a refill.  


"Better watch it. Keep that up and you'll be singing Sole Mio." Napoleon warned, but refilled Illya's glass anyways.  


"I am more than capable of holding my liquor." The smirk on Samantha's face was pure Illya.  


"Under normal circumstances I'd agree with you. But things aren't normal," Napoleon reminded him. "You still think we should go see Wilcox tonight?"  


Illya nodded his dark head and put down his glass. "Yes, we might as well leave now while Samantha is still in the bath."  


"We're not taking her with us?"  


"What do you mean your not taking 'her' with you?" the indignant tone was Illya's, but the intonation was pure Sam.  


Napoleon winced and turned to look in the direction of the voice. His jaw dropped. Sam stood her body, or Illya's body at any rate, covered by blue cotton pajamas, his face covered with green goo, and his hair. Were those curlers?  


"Take. It. Off," Illya's voice boomed, though it came out more of a shriek.  


Sam took a step back, One hand clutching the neck of her pajamas. "Wh ... what?"  


"The ... the slime," Illya said through gritted teeth as he pointed to 'his' face. "Those ... whatever they are ... on my head!"  


Her hand went to her face then her hair, then with tears in her eyes Samantha turned and fled.  


"I believe they're called curlers," Napoleon offered mildly. "You didn't have to be so rough on her."  


Illya dropped down on the sofa and covered his face with his hands. "I just want my body back."  


Samantha stormed back into the room, the green goop and curlers gone. "Better?" she snapped. "And don't even think about going without me."  


Illya looked through his fingers and sighed. "This could prove dangerous for a frail thing like you."  


Samantha looked down at the body she now possessed. "What?"  


"Sam frail?" Napoleon frowned. Even when Sam was in Sam's body she had never been what one would call frail. "In that body?"  


And that was how the three of them ended up at Wilcox's front door. He lived in a beautifully kept Victorian Row house. Lights burned brightly in the window.  


"The direct approach, I think," Illya said pushing the doorbell. They waited trying to appear like they belonged.  


After several minutes had past, Sam put her ear to the door and muttered, "Shouldn't someone be coming to answer the door?"  


Napoleon grunted and looked around to make sure no one was watching, then checked his watch. He pulled on the stem of his watch and withdraw a thin wire. He glanced over his shoulder. Illya was doing his best to cover his movements, but unfortunately his current smaller size wasn't much help. He went to wind the wire around the door knob only to find the door unlocked. He pushed on the door and as it opened the three slipped through into the foyer.  


Sam's eyes widen as she took in the elegant foyer with its marble floors and crystal chandelier hanging overhead from the eighteen foot high ceiling.  


"Wow!" Sam exclaimed much too loudly and found two hands immediately covering her mouth. They roamed through the downstairs rooms and found no-one before returning to the foyer. It was like going back in time. All the furniture was antique and in remarkable condition.  


"Anyone home," Napoleon called out and received no answer. The quiet was oppressive.  


"There was a light on the second floor," Illya reminded them.  


"This place is spooky," Samantha whispered as they started up the staircase. Halfway up a loud shriek was heard. Napoleon and Illya automatically went for their guns.  


Illya muttered a Russian curse as he realized that Samantha was wearing his gun since the holster fitted her new body and not his. He jerked back her jacket and pulled it out, aiming just as a hissing sounded from above.  


A large Siamese cat sat poised on the top landing and it didn't appear happy. One more hiss and it was leaping down the hall.  


"Oh, it's a kitty!" Sam moved to follow while Napoleon reached out trying to stop her, but too late.  


"At least it's not a dog," Illya muttered.  


Samantha was already down the hall following the cat just as it slipped through a crack in a set of double doors. She pushed on the door, Napoleon and Illya flanking her on either side. Seated at the desk was the owner of this house and on top of the desk guarding the necklace they sought was the cat.  


Sam stepped forward. "Mr. Wilcox?"  


The man had a blank stare, he opened his mouth and said, "Meow!"  


"Woah," Sam said.  


Three pairs of eyes gaped in shock. First at the man, then at the cat whose tail was swishing back in forth, its ears flat against its head. Suddenly the cat leaped, scratching and clawing, not at Sam, but at her body.  


Samantha shrieked, which sounded strange coming from Illya's mouth. Her body, with Illya inside was busy fighting off the cat's attack. Suddenly Mr. Wilcox hissed and jumped into the fray, attacking the cat.  


Napoleon had the presence of mind to snap up the metal container that housed the necklace. Samantha snatched up the open book next to it. One last quick look around to make sure they had everything, then the two gathered Illya from the middle of the skirmish and made quick their escape, leaving the man and cat fighting it out.  


The ride back to Napoleon's was made mostly in silence. While Illya studied the multitude of scratches and the rips in his clothing, Sam sat in the backseat in a state of shock, clutching the metal container and the book tightly. It was bad enough that her body and been switched with a man's with all it's strange urges, but to find that it also worked with animals!  


"What I don't understand." Napoleon broke the silence, his voice thoughtful. "Is why in all the years that you've had this stupid necklace, nothing like this had never happened before?"  


Illya twisted around to glare at himself seated in the back seat. "Good question."  


"I don't know," Sam wailed.  


"Well something had to set it off." Napoleon reasoned. "At least we have the amulet back and perhaps that book will hold the answer."  


"What ever you do, don't open that box," Illya ordered before turning around and slumping down into the seat.

The first thing Napoleon did was to contact Waverly and request a week off, hoping that things would be back to normal by then. Surprisingly enough Mr. Waverly approved their request without asking any questions as to why. The only prerequisite was that if they be on call if they were needed for an assignment. The second thing was to get some antibiotic ointment to doctor the scratches that Sam's body had suffered.  


"Ouch, that stings," Illya hissed as Napoleon worked the ointment onto the scratches.  


Napoleon glanced up just as Sam entered carrying a tray with three cups of coffee. "You still allergic to cats?"  


Sam nodded all sympathetic. "Darn, now my body's going to be all red, black and blue."  


"Need I remind you that any marks on this body were made by you," Illya reiterated.  


Sam handed Illya a cup, sticking her tongue out.  


Napoleon shook his head. "Will you two quit squabbling."  


"Truce?" Sam tilted her head and offered.  


"Truce," Illya grudgingly agreed.  


With a sigh of frustration, Napoleon reached for the book. "Now that that's settled, lets get down to business. Illya sat comfortably on one side, while Sam snuggled against him on the other. That felt a little strange so he scooted over a bit, but that him closer to Illya. Finally he gave up and looked at the title. "Spells and Incantations." He flipped through the pages.  


"Let's see what we have here," he muttered. "Spells on how to deter an unwanted visitor. No, I don't think so. How to remove a headache." He could feel one coming on now. "Erotic spells! Sexual Spells." His eyebrows drew up. "Nightmare spells."  


"Give me that," Illya insisted, ripping the book from Napoleon's grasp. He ran his finger down the index. "How to remove a problem." Turning the pages, he scanned the spell listed. "1.Write your problem on a piece of paper and throw it into a fire. 2.Write your problem down on a piece of paper, dig a hole, place the paper inside with a piece of copper, zinc, and iron and bury it. 3. Write your problem down on the sole of a old shoe. Put the shoe on and stomp on the problem three times. Remove the shoe and burn it in a fire." He shook his head. "I don't think that one will work." He flipped back to the contents page.

"What about the teleportation spell?" Sam asked.

Grudgingly Illya turned to that particular spell. "That involves making an object or person vanish from one location and reappear in another." He slammed the book shut. "This is ridiculous, there is nothing in here that fits our situation."

"We knew it wouldn't be easy," Sam reminded him.

They spend the next two days going over each spell listed in the book from cover to cover debating the pros and cons of each. They tried a couple with dubious results. In desperation they even went to where this had all began and recreated the circumstances, but nothing changed.

The following day Illya walked in with the newspaper. The headline story read 'Museum Curator found Mauled by Cat' .

"His final words were "I'm me again. ," Illya read from the paper before flinging it onto the sofa. 

"That can not mean what I think it does." Sam wanted to know.

"If it does, I shall not be the one dying," Illya snarked maliciously. He was tired of being in a woman's body. 

Sam immediately howled and flung herself into Napoleon's lap. 

Finding Illya's body in his arms was something that was happening on a daily basis and Napoleon was becoming increasingly comfortable with it. Not that he minded comforting his childhood friend, but for reasons that made no sense.

"Illya," Napoleon admonished his partner as he patted Illya's body on the back. "Maybe we're going about this the wrong way," he suggested. "Where's that book you found at the library?"

Illya snorted, but went searching and quickly found the book and opened to the page he'd bookmarked. 

 

Of Irish or Scottish origin this amulet was thought to have been designed sometime in the early 1500's.  


Among the most ancient forms of magic, amulets and talismans have long been used in spiritual traditions worldwide. These are the pendants, symbols and charms that either contain magic within them and convey that power and energy to the person who wears it, or has otherwise been charged to a specific purpose, such as protecting or granting good luck to the person who wears the charm.  


In the center is an eternal knot that forms the three points of a triangle, this amulet contains the shape of a Triskele; a powerful symbol of the Goddess. The ring in the center is a Celtic symbol of infinite love. Using the Celtic Triquetra as a sign of eternity, this amulet helps to instill patience and perspective within your life.  


Double Spiral  
• A sign of balance related to Ying Yang  
• Represents the equinoxes  
• Dance of Life  
• Spiritual awakening  
• Combination of the worldly realm with the spiritual realm

Napoleon frowned. "I don't get it."  


"It's basically a good luck charm," Illya confirmed.  


"But that can't be right," Napoleon insisted. "Look at what's happened." He pulled the book out of Illya's hand and reread the passage. Sam had gotten off his lap and was being unusually quiet. Her brows, or rather Illya's were close-knit and he wondered what she was thinking. She picked up the green satin cloth on which the pendant lay and looked at it.  


Illya took it way from her. "You can see the middle section, the Triquetra, circle, interlace. Historically, the triquetra symbol has been used for centuries as a sign of special things and persons that are threefold, such as Mother, Daughter and Grandmother - Past, Present and Future -not to mention, the Holy Trinity, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. A common version of the symbol includes a circle that goes through the three interconnected loops of the Triquetra as this one does. The circle emphasizes the unity of the three elements. The symbol is also sometimes used to symbolize Mind, Body, and Soul."  


Napoleon nodded. He was used to Illya's stock of strange obscure information. "Or Sam, You, and me?"  


"Possibly," Illya agreed. "You'll notice that there is no beginning, no end, a continuous joining. Then there are the double spirals. A sign of balance, sort of Ying and Yang."  


Napoleon's mouth quirked to one side in a lopsided smile. "Kinda like us."  


The sly smirk on Sam's face was pure Illya. "You could be right."  


Napoleon turned to look at Sam. She looked a little sad, and a tad guilty, and Napoleon had no idea as to why. It was a strange expression to see on Illya's face.  


"I used to have fantasies about this necklace. My grandmother used to tell me the wildest stories about it. How it could make all my dreams come true." Sam spoke softly almost as if to herself.  


"What was your dream?" Illya asked gently as he stood and faced her.  


"I never really thought ... it never occurred to me." she blushed, her eyes almost in tears.  


"What never occurred to you?" Illya's tone was soft, almost tender.  


Napoleon was puzzled. Something strange was going on. He could feel it. His two friends, one from his childhood, the other ... well, their friendship was rather hard to describe. Seeing the two face each other. Tears streaming down Illya's face, while Sam's held a tender look and knowing that their bodies were switched around made his chest constrict.  


Sam's thoughts were in a jumble. She turned her gaze to Napoleon and almost laughed. He looked the same way he had when he was ten and she eight and she'd demanded he marry her. Shocked and a little scared. "I'd always dreamed that one day you would see me - really see me - and realize that I was your one true love. It never occurred to me ... that your true love would be - him."  


Napoleon's mouth dropped open. He was fond of Illya, but ... come on now!  


Illya, on the other hand, looked thoughtful. To him it made sense - in a weird, warped way. "Okay, just supposing for the sake of argument, that you're right. How do we reverse it."  


Sam shook her head sadly and Illya looked heavenward, biting his lips.  


There had to be a way. A way to change things back. Napoleon could not, would not except anything else. God knows they'd tried everything, including reenacting the entire episode. He took the necklace from Sam and placed it around Illya's neck. Then he took both their hands in his and tugged on Sam's. When he had her attention, Napoleon commanded, "Change your wish."  


Illya's facial expressions went from puzzled to light switch bright. Sam brought her other hand and placed it over the amulet that hung from Illya's neck. She closed her eyes tightly and made her wish, for better or worse.  


A bright light flashed and three bodies fell to the floor.  


Napoleon was the first to regain consciousness and he scurried on hands and knees to sit between the two. Samantha's body lay slightly curled, a pair of boxers peaking out from beneath the black turtleneck she wore. Illya's body was stiff as a board, covered by blue jeans and a pink t-shirt, that she'd gotten who knew where.  


Grey eyes blinked, then blue and they both sat up. Napoleon looked from one to the other as both gripped their head and moaned.  


"Illya?" Napoleon asked hesitantly. Relief flooded through him when the shaggy yellow head nodded and the blue eyes caught his. So happy was he to have his partner back, that he did something he never expected to do. He pulled his friend to him and kissed him silly.  


Those blue eyes widened, then his body melted into the kiss. Arms wound around Napoleon's neck even as he pulled Illya more firmly into his. The kiss continued and could have lasted forever, only to break apart when slightly hysterical giggling was heard.  


Samantha sat up, her grey eyes wide with wonderment, her hands clutching the necklace around her neck. "I guess wishes do come true," she said, her eyes danced brightly with wicked delight.

It was two days later and they were back in the same small Italian restaurant that they'd visited after their accidental switching of bodies. Illya was once again eating as if it were his last meal and Samantha was grudgingly tackling a salad in the attempt to lose the five pounds that Illya had somehow managed to pack onto her body. Napoleon was settled back in his chair, a glass of the house wine in his hand as he raised it to toast the fact that his two friends were back were they belonged. That and Samantha's new job. Upon the unfortunate death of the museum curator, the board of directors had looked over possible candidates and offered Sam the job.  


"To Samantha," Napoleon intoned.  


"Here, here," Illya agreed, raising his glass. He drained it in one gulp.  


Samantha blushed prettily, happy that all was right in the world again. She had her dream job, she thought as she fiddled with the necklace that hung around her neck. There was only one question left unanswered. "I understand that it was my wish that caused our little switch, but that doesn't explain Wilcox and his cat?"  


Napoleon was too busy watching Illya, who having his own body back was giddy with delight. He couldn't help smiling as Illya called the waiter over to request yet another glass, no make that a bottle of champagne.  


"It's elementary," Illya said, once they all had their glasses filled. "He must have really loved it - the cat. I can only assume that he wished he could be him."  


"And the cat as Wilcox attacked Illya thinking he was you coming to take the amulet back," Napoleon contributed to the explanation.  


Sam shivered and pulled down the sleeve of her blouse. The scratches still red on her skin. "But why did the cat attack Wilcox?"  


Napoleon scratched his ear as he thought about it. He and Illya had discussed the entire turn of events - in bed. One of the positives about the switch was that Illya had developed a whole new appreciation for Napoleon's techniques. "Try to put yourself in the cat's place. If you saw another cat attacking someone, what would you do?"  


"Run away," was Sam's answer.  


"Join in," was Illya's.  


"Well, he was a male cat." Napoleon finished. And that said it all.


End file.
